d so quickly that they even
Had no time to take the eel off.
Like a poor old torso lay he
On the sand so pitifully;
And the chronicles are silent
Whether the old father stork came
Ever back to take his booty.

Werner meanwhile to the garden
Climbed up; to the shady arbour
On the soft green sward he's walking,
That the pebbly footpath may not
By the noise betray his coming.
In the very act of sinning
Doth he wish to catch the rascal,
And to beat time to his music
On his back without relenting.
Thus he comes up to the arbour,
With his hand raised high in anger.
But, as if 'twere struck by lightning,
To his side it dropped down quickly,
And the stroke remained, like German
Unity and other projects,
Only an ideal dream.
Then beheld he Margaretta
Pressing to her lips the trumpet,
And her rosy cheeks are puffed out
Like those trumpet-blowing angels'
In the church of Fridolinus.
Up she starts now as a thief would
In the neighbour's yard detected,
And the trumpet drops abruptly
From the touch of her soft lips.
Werner covered her confusion
Through a clever maze of language;
And with ardour he commences
On the spot to teach the maiden
The first steps in trumpet-blowing
In strict order, with due method;
Shows the instrument's construction,
How to use the lips in blowing,
That true tones may be forthcoming.
Margaretta listened docile.
And before she is aware, new
Tones she finds she is awaking
From the trumpet which young Werner
With low bows had handed to her.
Easily from him she learneth
What her father's cuirassiers blew
As the call to charge in battle;
Only a few notes and simple,
But most pithy and inspiring.

Love is, there can be no question,
Of all teachers the most skilful;
And what years of earnest study
Do not conquer, he is winning
With the charm of an entreaty,
With the magic of a look.
E'en a common Flemish blacksmith
Once became through love's sweet passion
In advanced age a great painter.
Happy teacher, happy scholar,
In the honeysuckle arbour!
'Twas as if the only safety
Of the German empire rested
On this